


Burning with Hellfire

by Elanor_Hermione



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Gen, Hellfire, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), No beta we fall like Crowley, The first chapter is Aziraphale-centric, The second one is Crowley-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elanor_Hermione/pseuds/Elanor_Hermione
Summary: Aziraphale finally managed to send away Sergeant Shadwell from his bookshop: now he only had to call Crowley and stop the Apocalypse.But things never go as planned for him.Canon Divergence: what if the fire at the bookshop was actually Hellfire?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! :)  
> English is not my first language, and since I'm not particularly good at writing and I need a lot of practice, I thought: "What's the best way of practising? Fanfiction, of course!"  
> So here I am. Please, let me know if there are mistakes and where I can improve.  
> Enjoy and have a nice day! :)

“Keep away from the circle!”

This was absolutely ridicolous: the Apocalypse was going on, the world was about to end and he needed to reunite with Crowley, to tell him what he had found out about the Antichrist and also to reassure him about their friendship, still there and strong despite his own words at the Bandstand. He felt his cheeks heating up, how could he deny their bond after all they had gone through? The other angels had made clear that they wanted Armagheddon to happen, how could he think that the Almighty was available to listen to him and speak to him? Now all he could do was hope that Crowley hadn't gone off to the stars yet...

He shook his head. However important their relationship was to him, it had to wait: the battle between Heaven and Hell was nigh, soon every human would be dead and Earth itself would be burnt down, so the priority was trying to stop Adam Young, Satan's child. And yet here he was, still in his bookshop, pushing away from the gate to Heaven a stubborn Mr. Shadwell, who had by accident seen him talking with the Metatron and had thus decided he (an angel!) was possessed by a demon; and of course a true witchfinder could not let it go, he had to 'exorcise' him with a bell, a candle and... Was that Agnes Nutter's prophecy book? Oh, the audacity of this man! Entering his bookshop uninvited, letting wind and rain ruin all of his precious books and papers, and shouting accuses of stregonery! Mr. Shadwell had always been a particularly bizarre person, though, so probably his reaction to the supernatural wasn't that much unexpected or out of character, but it was annoying and unnecessary (and, in this case, even dangerous) nonetheless.

Aziraphale couldn't even imagine what would happen if a mortal stepped in the circle, and he really didn't want to know, so the Sergeant had to leave, there was no time to discuss: either he left on his own or... He was an angel, one of the good guys, he shouldn't be expected to... Miracle someone away. Not even somebody as obnoxious as Shadwell. But the man didn't seem willing to go away anytime soon...

“Don't cross the circle, you stupid man!”

No, that was enough. Since he was focusing all of his attention on the man, he wasn't paying attention to his own steps and almost entered the circle. He sighed in frustration, his powers running through his veins, ready to be used.

“This is the last time I'm warning you: head out now, leave me and this bookshop alone or there will be consequences!”

His words went lost in the sound of the storm outside and the phantom exorcism inside.

All of a sudden a lightning immediately followed by a terrible crack stopped the man and the angel. For a brief moment everything was still, as if time itself had frozen thanks to the sheer force of nature: Aziraphale could only hear their panting breath resonating in the dim light of the candles. None of them was speaking anymore, they both silently agreed to respect that unexpected yet much-welcomed truce.

But that peace didn't last long: another lightning bolt, even stronger than the first one, hit the ground outside with a terrible violence, shaking all the books and almost blowing out those fragile candles, their only source of light; they were still able to hear the echo of the thunder in their ears, but before the witchfinder could interpret it as a demonic sign Aziraphale snapped his finger, and the man was finally gone.

He sighed in relief, appreciating the silence. Now that he was alone he could focus on what was truly important. First, though, he took a moment to relax and let go of his frustration, closing his eyes and concentrating on the room around him; the quiet raining outside didn't disturb the calmness inside, and the scent of the candles had a soothing effect on him. After a couple of deep breaths the anxiety in his blood dissolved and left behind itself a sense of serenity: armed with this new-found confidence, calling Crowley and averting the end of times didn't seem such an impossible task.

However, just as he was dialing Crowley's number he remembered his previous call and the demon's words, “Sorry angel, not a good moment”...

What if he was in trouble? Was everything okay now? What if... He had already left for Alpha Centauri?

He nodded to himself and kept dialing, for he needed to know what had happened earlier and whether or not he could count on his friend for the time being.

While he was waiting for Crowley to answer, his nostrils suddenly detected a strange scent, a sharp and pungent smell impossible to miss for its strenght, like the one of... He turned around, and saw with horror that a candle had fallen down and burned one of his papers (probably a copy of “The sound of music”, but from that distance he couldn't be sure), thus emitting that peculiar odour. A fire in the bookshop would be extremely hard to extinguish, and in such a place, overfilled with papers and books, even the smallest flame could turn into a raging hell. The phone call could wait, the blaze couldn't, so he placed the phone on the desk and miracled a bucket of water. Luckily he had been quick and only “The sound of music” got burned, so he didn't even need to pour all the water on the pages. First mr.Shadwell, then the candle... It almost looked like God didn't want him and Crowley to meet again and stop the Apocalypse.

“I can't believe my luck” a voice said from behind him.

Aziraphale turned around, the bucket of water still in his now frozen hands, his heart racing in his chest. In front of him, next to the desk, there was a demon. He recognized Hell's foul scent on that man, and by the evil grin on his face he could tell he definitely wasn't as friendly as Crowley. A frog was resting on top of his head, which made him realise that he wasn't standing before a common demon, but the Duke Hastur himself. How did he get there? Demons are wily, but usually not so sneaky nor stealthy, so how come he didn't notice that creature turning up at his own bookshop?

“Hastur” he said, looking around for a way out but failing miserably: he was too nervous, too scared to find a solution to his problem.

And then his eyes fell down on the bucket he had used to put out the fire: it was still filled with water. Clear and fresh, water was vital for life, drinking was necessary to keep mortal bodies alive and well-functioning, and in the course of the centuries people had found always new ways to avail themselves of it: water was essential to cook, to bake, to build (he could still remember the first time the Romans had used concrete in one of their buildings: a real revolution in architecture),.. To save lives and kill.

* * *

_“Out of the question! It would destroy you!”_

_“It's not for me, it's just an insurance”_

_“Holy water won't just kill your body, Crowley, it will destroy you completely”_

* * *

Holy water could kill a demon. A demon like Crowley, but like Hastur too.

And he happened to be an angel, able to bless things.

A loud roar suddenly broke his train of thought and drew his attention back to his enemy - he was laughing, and that dreadful, triumphant sound sent chills down his spine. He felt his back heating up, a warm feeling that in a bookshop, with a raging storm outside, could mean only one thing; fire. He twisted, his heart racing for the fear, and a terrible sight met his eyes: the back room of his bookshop was on fire, heat and light coming out from the door. He felt tears running down his face, for that place was full of beautiful memories of him and Crowley drinking refined wine, talking about humans, discussing fishes and future the day Adam Young was born...

Now flames were eating the table and the couches, destroying that once peaceful area, and in that moment Aziraphale felt his whole world burning down: ironic, but maybe not so odd, since in a couple of hours Earth itself would meet the same destiny. The blaze was so fast to spread and so powerful (even from that distance he could sense the sheer power emanating from it, growing stronger and stronger), that there was no doubt on its nature. It was definitely Hellfire.

He had to run. He had to flee. Angles and Hellfire were not a good match at all, and if by chance he touched it (even for just a moment), he would die shortly after among atrocious suffering. Just like demons and... Holy water! How could he forget his only weapon? Hastur was still there, setting Aziraphale's bookshop on fire, and as long as he was there a way of escaping was impossible. He took a deep breath, and with a renewed confidence he started blessing the water in his hands; luckily he could performe this kind of miracle even without talking aloud, and the Duke was (as Crowley had often complained) quite a stupid and slow demon, so unable to notice that liquid turning into a lethal weapon. Aziraphale smiled, because now everything could be okay again. He would use that bucket of Holy water to kill Hastur and extinguish the fire, than he would meet Crowley somewhere and stop Armagheddon: Earth would be safe, humans would be alive and Heaven and Hell would put aside their insane plan.

A good angel shouldn't be pleased by the screaming of a dying creature, but that foul fiend deserved to die and Aziraphale hadn't always been a great angel anyway. Not according to the Archangels at least.

He closed his eyes just for a moment, to recollect his strenght and fully comprehend what he had done. But even a moment was too long. Hellfire was not like common fire, it was more powerful, more dangerous (especially to him), hotter and extremely faster. What would normally be burnt in one hour, was destroyed in less than ten minutes when Hellfire was involved.

So, when Aziraphale opened his eyes again to face it, it was too late.

The pain was unbearable. He could do nothing but scream and fall down on the floor, trying in vain to come up with a way to save himself, but he wasn't even able to think straight, his mind was entirely focused on the growing pain the Hellfire was causing.

He was about to die. There was nothing else to do, there was no way to save him now, there was no one who could help. Created by God herself thousand of years earlier, before Earth, before life itself, now Aziraphale's life was coming to an end; if he had known it, he would have definitely spent more time with Crowley, tossing coins, dining at the Ritz, just having fun together... Everything was hurting, he could feel the fire in his bones and his veins burning every single cell of his body, but now his heart was aching too for the loneliness of his death: oh, what he'd do to be with his beloved demon one last time...

Soon his vision blurred; the crackling of the fire became a static background noise; his body went numb.

Death fell upon him, taking away his life forever.

Everything got swallowed up into the darkness.


	2. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is dead. Crowley goes to the bookshop, not suspecting the fire.

“Why isn't he picking up my calls?”

Crowley was driving to the bookshop, the Bentley faster than ever, “You're my best friend” at full volume, his calls still unanswered. Trapping Hastur in his answering machine had been a pure stroke of genius, and he couldn't wait to tell Aziraphale everything and to thank him for that thermos full of Holy water... The tartan thermos that saved his life. There was only one problem: the angel wasn't answering, which was kind of odd since he was usually quick to come to the phone and he had been the one to call in first place. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and he switched off his phone as he entered Soho, for less than couple of minutes and he would see in person what was keeping his friend so busy.

It was pouring with rain outside, but in the car the sound of the raindrops was overpowered by Freddie's voice and Crowley's worries: how could they stop Armagheddon? How were they supposed to find a solution, when they couldn't even trace the Antichrist? Was war really necessary to –

Firefighters? Why on heaven were there firefighters in front of -

No.

No no no.

It was impossible, it had to ba a dream, or better, a nightmare.

Aziraphale's bookshop was engulfed in flames, red light and black smoke coming out from the windows, the heat in sharp contrast with the cold air.

He pulled over and opened the door, snapping at one of those fool mortals who had tried to stop him; he had not enough time nor enough care to be unsarcastic, and if he didn't miracle away everybody it was only because of his ill-concealed fear.

From the road the bookshop looked horrifying, but the inside was even worse: he could see only red, orange and black everywhere, nothing was spared from that violent, raging fire, every single thing was burning down, destroyed forever.

“Aziraphale!” he shouted, trying to find his friend. There was no answer, no calling back, no cry for help.

He moved around the wooden shelves, his eyes frantically looking for a sign of life in that flaming hell. Aziraphale had to be alive. He wouldn't accept any other option.

“Aziraphale! I can't find you!”

Breathing was not a problem, he was a demon after all, therefore the smoke, lethal for those little humans outdoor, had no effect on him. So his breath wasn't cut by that irrespirable air. Something else froze him. That something was a dark hand, lying on the floor and peeking behind one of the bookshelves. Crowley could recognise that hand everywhere, that hand usually busy with a book, a cup of hot chocolate, or a fork, that hand now dark and burnt. The skin was almost entirely charred, in some points it had fallen down, exposing the muscles and nerves.

He didn't want to turn the corner. He wanted to run off and forget that sight, for it could not be true, that hand could not be Aziraphale's, it was simply impossible. He was crazy and delusional, for sure, there was no other explanation, he refused other explanations.

Maybe the angel was in Heaven trying to talk with the Almighty (he could see in his head that little Principality asking calmly but steadily how to do it)... Maybe he was in Mayfair looking for that stupid demon who mistook a stranger's hand for his one... Maybe he found the Antichrist and was now saving everyone... He took a step, his legs unsteady, his breath short, an oppressing sense of impending doom upon him: he felt as if he had been sentenced to death. He took another step, he could hear his mind shout “Don't go!” over and over, his eyes were hurting by unshed tears.

As soon as he got past the bookshelf, though, the pain in his eyes stopped and the pressure was suddenly released. He felt his chest tighten, sobs and tears shaking his body with great violence; his legs gave up, and he immediately found himself kneeling before Aziraphale's corpse. There was no doubt. Only Hellfire could do that much damage to an angel's body, and even if for some reason he hadn't noticed the stillness, the burns or the lack of life in those beautiful blue eyes, there was no way for the shadow of his wings burnt on the ground to pass unnoticed.

It was the ultimate mark, the inarguable proof of an angel's death, that distinguished it from a simple discorporation.

Aziraphale was dead.

* * *

_“How long have we been friends? Six thousands years!”_

_“I forgive you”_

_“When I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you!”_

* * *

Six thousands years of friendship, one thousand since the Arrangement. Now it was all over, and the last time they met he had threatened to forget about him, as if it was possible for him to forget the most important person of his life, or better, the only important one. Aziraphale... Always trying his best, always ready to sass him or prove his cleverness, a challenging prey for a demon: but Crowley was not an ordinary demon, he didn't seek his company to lure him into the dark side or tempt him (not too much at least, his temptations usually consisted of lunches and rare books), 'cause he had always found great pleasure in just being with him and spending time with him.

Now Aziraphale was dead.

No more dinners at the Ritz, no more old bookshop where to take refuge from their bosses, no more silly magic tricks. If only he had been faster or smarter, if only... A demon had many powers, but going back in time was beyond his abilities, no matter how desperate he was to change this situation.

His only friend, his best friend, was dead, leaving behind himself a soon-to-be-broken-up world. Crowley's world was already broken up and shattered in pieces.

But then, as he wiped away the tears off his face, he cought sight of something strange. A bit further there was a book, miraculously escaped from the fire: the cover was still in perfect conditions, though a little dirty with ashes. “The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch” was lying in front of him, eager to be picked up and read. He snorted, finding it ironic that of all the books there only that stolen one had survived the flames, as if the others were useless and worthless. Well, he didn't really like reading, but to him every single one of those papers was absolutely priceless, more important than anything else, since now they were all he had left of his late best friend.

That's why he took that old book, as a souvenir, as something to look at while remembering the old times spent with his other half. Probably he should have got out of that burning place, but he didn't have the strenght to get up and leave, he just wanted to forget everything and stay there where he belonged. Stroking Aziraphale's white hair (now slightly grey for the coal) with extreme care, he opened that book, paying attention to its spine as he had often seen the angel do.

He wasn't ready for what he found inside. The first page was covered with notes about... The Antichrist? So Aziraphale had actually found him! Now they should have been in this little town, Tadfield, to face him together, not here in a flaming bookshop. Somehow his grief was soothed by that book, which was kind of odd, or maybe, not so much after all: in the beginning Crowley had been the most determined to stop the Apocalypse, but in the end he had given up and left this duty to Aziraphale. Perhaps it was time for him to try and save the world again. Something told him that this was what his angel would want him to do.

He looked back at his friend again, memorising every little detail of his appearance, then he stood up with a new purpose: his own world was already crashed, but Earth still had a tiny chance of surviving.

His old pair of sunglasses hit the ground without a sound, the blaze was too noisy to hear anything else.

He took another pair and wore it as he closed the door behind himself, the black lenses blocking the light of the bookshop burning with Hellfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here I am!  
> This is my first multi-chapter, and I have to admit that I pretty much liked this experience :)  
> Even though I tried my best to slow down the pace and give the proper attention to Crowley's inner thoughts, I'm not yet satisfied with this chapter; I think, though, that I'll never be happy with what I write...  
> And yes, I took the shadow of a dead angel's wings from Supernatural.  
> Anyway, thank you all for the kudos in the first chapter, and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here is the first chapter; I'm not really sure how I feel about it...   
> Anyway, the second chapter will be published tomorrow, thank you for reading!


End file.
